


Dawn's Favor

by CommonNonsense



Series: Overwatch Ficlets [13]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: McCree keeps waiting to wake up one day without Hanzo beside him. Men like him don't get to keep good things around long.





	Dawn's Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts for this one: "tangled in bed," "comforting touches," and "once, twice, forever more." :D

The first time they wake up together, McCree panics.

He wakes first that morning to a vague sense of unease buzzing in his skull. He’s fairly accustomed to getting up early, body attuned to a military schedule, but he knows before he opens his eyes that this is too early. He feels like he’s burning up, sweltering under the blanket with sweat sticky between his thighs. His shoulder protests angrily at hours of bearing his weight. He swears and tries to roll back, but hits the wall behind him.

Not a wall, he realizes when it makes an annoyed noise.

McCree snaps his eyes open. Hanzo, pressed up against his naked back, grumbles and briefly tightens the arm slung possessively over McCree’s waist before resettling. His face is shoved against the back of McCree’s neck, breath washing hot over his skin. McCree lays there for a while, taking stock of it all. He’s not quite used to being the little spoon. He’s not quite used to any of this. 

He slowly turns onto his stomach and props himself on his elbows so he can look at Hanzo. Hanzo slumbers on undisturbed, his arm still draped over McCree’s lower back. His hair is a mess, a spray of black threaded through with those few threads of silver that survived the undercut near the temples. His face is completely lax, absent of its normal severity. McCree can’t help but smile, warmth bursting in his chest. He’s never seen Hanzo like this before.

He wonders if it will be the only time.

The thought makes his heart pick up and rattle against his sternum. His next breath isn’t half as steady at the one before it. McCree flexes a fist a couple of times, but when that fails to resolve any of the building tension, he carefully extricates himself from Hanzo’s hold and tiptoes to the bathroom.

With the door between himself and Hanzo, McCree is free to let out the shaky gasp rattling around his lungs. He sucks in a slower breath and holds it as he grips the edge of the counter, head bowed over the sink. He doesn’t look in the mirror, avoiding his own shameful reflection. 

To say they’ve been taking this  _ slow _ isn’t quite accurate; it would be more correct to say they’ve been taking it  _ careful _ . Hanzo hasn’t had anything he called a relationship since his teenage years and McCree’s attempts at serious relationships have been half-assed at best, considering his career and general life expectancy. Dates are carefully planned and executed, never too spontaneous. Affection is doled out in measured doses. Sex always ends with a walk to the door and a kiss good-bye, never spilling over into the morning after. It’s not, strictly speaking,  _ better _ , but it’s safe. Or it had been, at least, until last night, when Hanzo had started to climb out of bed and McCree had stopped him with “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

And Hanzo had seemed to wrestle with that, but he stayed all the same.

The problem now is that they’ve crossed a line, one they’d never really agreed on but which had existed all the same. Before, McCree could at least pretend that his investment was well-controlled, that he existed at a level where, when Hanzo inevitably left for one reason or another, it may not hurt so much. Hell, he half-expects to walk back out of the bathroom and find that Hanzo’s already gone, or when he wakes up for good in another hour or two. He has no reason to think that will happen, other than his long history of losing people. Now he knows what Hanzo looks like in the morning, knows how it feels to wake up wrapped up in him and he’s sure, like everything else, that it will end. 

McCree shudders and rubs his hands down his face. Stupid, he thinks. Jumping to conclusions already, having a breakdown in the bathroom when he should be in bed, taking advantage of this good thing while he has it.

It takes a few minutes before he feels calm enough to go back to bed, if not back to sleep. He splashes his face with cold water and half-heartedly brushes his teeth. When he comes back out, Hanzo is awake, too, his arm outstretched over the space McCree had occupied. 

“You were gone a while,” Hanzo observes in a whisper as McCree slides back under the covers. “Are you alright?”

His voice is rough with sleep, but his gaze is focused, bright with concern. McCree’s throat tightens with an emotion he doesn’t dare look at too closely. “Right as rain,” he replies.

“Alright.” As soon as McCree is settled, Hanzo worms his way back into McCree’s space. McCree has his arms around him and his chin resting on Hanzo’s head before he’s even aware of it.

Hanzo falls back asleep almost instantly. True to his suspicion, McCree’s awake for the rest of the morning, but it's hard to mind. 

—

The second time, McCree wakes later. Unconsciousness slowly unfurls and falls away, awareness creeping in to take its place. It takes a minute, but he soon realizes that what woke him was not routine or aches or a needy bladder, but the gentle caress of fingers through his hair.

“S’nice,” he rumbles, nuzzling into what he realizes only after is Hanzo’s thigh. The hand in his hair pauses for just a moment,then resumes as Hanzo chuckles somewhere above him. 

“Good morning,” Hanzo murmurs. McCree cracks one eye open to look up at him. Hanzo is sitting up with his tablet propped on one knee, although once he meets McCree’s eye, he sets it aside. A frown flickers across his face, some internal dilemma, before he shimmies down in bed to recline beside McCree. McCree immediately takes advantage of the change to drape himself over Hanzo The repositioning sadly necessitates the removal of his hand from McCree’s hair, but he is quick to replace it with his other before McCree has to protest. McCree returns the favor with fingertips stroking along the ridges of Hanzo’s ribs.

"You on the roster today?" McCree asks after a minute or so. He's careful to whisper, afraid of shattering the delicate spun-glass moment between them.

"No." Hanzo is equally quiet, his voice a low rumble. "It seems that we have not had many assignments recently."

"Nah. Seems like everyone's lyin' a bit low right now." McCree pauses, then nudges forward to press a kiss to the ridge of Hanzo’s collarbone. “Can’t say I mind getting a little time off.”

“Surely there is something we should be doing today.”

“Don’t think so. Least, not that anyone’s gonna get us in trouble for. Could probably stay in bed all day, if we wanted.”

Hanzo snorts. “Is that what is done on a day off, then? An entire day in bed?"

"Are you tellin' me you  _ haven't _ ever spent a whole day in bed?"

The hand in McCree's hair slows, then stops. "No," Hanzo says softly. "I have not.”

Guilt drags down McCree’s good mood immediately. No, of course Hanzo hasn’t done something as simple as spending a day in bed with a lover. McCree may not have a great track record with relationships, but Hanzo barely has one at all. 

“Well,” he says with a lightness he no longer feels, “that’s a damn crime.”

Hanzo hums distantly. McCree worries the inside of his lip. “S’alright. Not like I’m much better, either,” he offers. 

“Mm.”

The quiet is no longer delicate; now it rests on them like the tense, humid air before a thunderstorm. 

“Can I tell you somethin’?” Hanzo hums again. McCree swallows hard, suddenly very grateful to have his face hidden. “I, uh. I’m not so good with this, either. I mean, you know that already, but . . . I keep thinkin’ I’m gonna wake up and find you gone one morning. Or that it’s gonna up and end one day.”

Hanzo’s fingers tighten in his hair. “You think I would just . . . leave?”

“It’s not that. It’s more like I’m waitin’ for the other shoe to drop.” McCree realizes his hand has stilled on Hanzo’s ribs and resumes the touch, focusing on the drag of his fingers along Hanzo’s skin instead of the tightness in his chest. “Not too used to keepin’ good things around, and, well, you’re probably the best thing I’ve had in a while. Hard not to feel like I’m on borrowed time.”

There is silence for a long time. As McCree is starting to fear that he’s overstepped, Hanzo takes a deep breath and says, “I understand. People like us do not have the luxury of commitment, to this or to anything else.”

Hanzo pushes McCree’s hair back from his face and gently nudges him to look up. “I--cannot promise everything,” he says, stilted. His jaw works before he forces the rest out. “But I want to keep this as well. And if something were to change, I would not leave you so thoughtlessly. That much I can be certain of.”

Relief bubbles through the guilt in his chest, though some of the anxiety lingers in his gut. McCree tips his head up for the kiss Hanzo offers, letting the slow presses of their lips soothe away the worst of his distress.

When they break, McCree takes a shivery breath. He gives Hanzo the most playful smile he can manage, though it feels shaky on his face. “So,” he says, “where’d we land on that ‘day in bed’ idea?”

Hanzo laughs, low and rumbling. “I have some ideas,” he responds. He pushes McCree onto his back, mouthing under the line of his jaw. McCree’s answering laugh turns into a sigh as he melts under the attention.

He’s still not sure about where they stand or what might come but for now, this is enough.

—

McCree doesn’t let himself think about it on the third morning, or the fourth, or any of the ones that follow. Those first couple of weeks turn into a solid four months. Eventually, they’re sharing a bed more nights than not, separated more by missions or schedules than they are choice. McCree soon forgets to think about it at all.

McCree wakes up early again. It varies who is up first nowadays. The best mornings are when they both sleep until their alarm, but Hanzo got back later than McCree did last night. He deserves a little more time, or at least to wake up to something other than his phone blaring. It takes some effort to extricate himself from the limpet-like grasp Hanzo has around his middle, but he has some practice in it now and manages to free himself. Hanzo immediately curls into the space McCree vacates, stealing the leftover warmth. McCree chuckles to himself and reaches for a shirt. 

Once he’s decent, he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s still early enough that the base hasn’t quite woken up. He doesn’t pass any other agents in the halls and even the kitchen is still empty when he arrives. He starts a cup of coffee for himself, debates the merits of coffee versus tea for Hanzo, and ultimately decides tea might let Hanzo sleep in longer if he chooses. Breakfast is considered, then discarded as well; he’ll wait until the rest of the team is more active. Maybe he’ll get lucky and someone will make something with leftovers. Or maybe he’ll feel generous enough to make pancakes. He’ll revisit the ideas in an hour. 

When he returns with coffee and tea in hand, Hanzo is still in bed, but he stirs at the sound of the door. He props himself up and turns blearily in McCree’s direction, squinting in the dim room. McCree’s mostly gotten used to the sight of a sleep-mussed Hanzo, but it’s still such a departure from his normal, carefully manicured look that he can’t help but chuckle.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he slips back into bed. Hanzo’s response is a tired grunt. He shakes out his hair from its disheveled ponytail and ties it back up. McCree watches with fond amusement, offering the tea when Hanzo is done. “What time was it when you got back? Didn’t quite see when you came in.”

“After midnight. Sadly not late enough for me to justify skipping this morning’s sims.”

“I’m sure you could get away with it. Angela’s got a mean lecture about sleep deprivation she can give Winston.”

Hanzo huffs, but shakes his head. “No, it is fine. I have done worse things.” He leans up against McCree, and McCree wraps an arm around his shoulder and tucks him close. “Is there breakfast?”

“Not yet. Still early. Was tryin’ to decide if I liked everyone enough this morning to do pancakes.”

Hanzo hums and tips his head sideways against McCree’s shoulder. “That sounds nice. You should do that.”

“In a bit, then.”

Hanzo hums again. McCree rests his head against his and drinks his coffee.

As they sit there for a few minutes, quietly basking in each other’s company as they wake up, it occurs to McCree that this must be true contentment. He could stand to do this every morning. 

Maybe he  _ could _ have this every morning.

The thought doesn’t startle him the way thinking it has before, instead settling over him like a comforting blanket. He waits for the panic and doubts to barge in and ruin the sweetness of this moment but they never come. He could have this—maybe not forever, but not through any fault of Hanzo’s. And anything else he’ll fight like hell for the right to keep what he has right now. 

“What do you think of movin’ in with me?” McCree asks.

Hanzo makes a questioning noise. “We technically already live together.”

“You know what I mean.”

At this angle, it’s hard to read Hanzo’s expression, but he can see his brow furrow. “You want me to move into your dorm?”

“I mean. You’re halfway there already. Doesn’t have to be mine, either, if you like yours more. Not that there’s any real difference, I think.” McCree is surprised to realize he doesn’t feel nervous about this at all. “But I like this. Wakin’ up with you. And our lives are kind of a mess and I don’t see us gettin’ that house with the white picket fence anytime soon, so this seems like the next best thing.” 

Hanzo thinks on this for a long moment. Then he lets out a sigh and tucks in closer, settling more comfortably against McCree’s side. “Only if you make pancakes,” he says simply.

McCree laughs. He tries to kiss the top of Hanzo’s head, but mostly succeeds in pressing his grin against his hair. “Fair enough. I can do that.”


End file.
